


Oh, Brother

by twdsunshine



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Gen, Pre-Apocalypse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-08
Updated: 2019-04-08
Packaged: 2020-01-07 02:12:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18401054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twdsunshine/pseuds/twdsunshine
Summary: Brotherly love isn’t always easy, that’s something Daryl Dixon knows all too well, and yet, when times get tough, it’s Merle he wants by his side.  A love letter to the Dixon brothers and the unbreakable bond they share.





	Oh, Brother

**Now…**

The seconds seemed to slow to a halt as Daryl took in Rick’s expectant face, his wide eyes raking over the archer, looking for an indication that he was about to change his mind.  Behind him, Maggie and Glenn were shooting him identical looks of disbelief, but he averted his gaze, not wanting to see the physical evidence of what his brother had put them through.

His brother.  Merle Dixon.  Man, how long had it been since Atlanta, since they’d hurried to free him from his rooftop prison only to find that all that remained was his bloodied hand?  Daryl had known somewhere deep down that the only remaining family member he had left was alive somewhere, but he never would’ve guessed he’d find him in a place like Woodbury, or that he’d be responsible for nearly beating one of their own to death.

When he glanced over at him now, Merle wore a satisfied smirk, as though it were a foregone conclusion that Daryl would turn his back on the group.  He hadn’t been there to see his baby brother overcome his insecurities and step up to become Rick’s right-hand man, hadn’t seen him bond with the others without Merle’s aggression getting in the way.  To him, they were as good as strangers, so why would Daryl wanna stay with them?  In truth, returning to the prison was a much more tempting proposition: fences, bunks, food…  And yet, as he took in the determined set of Merle’s mouth, the tensed muscles in his arms and the sparkle in his eyes as one flickered closed in a cocky wink, he was transported back to the times in the past when Merle had been all he had.  Yeah, Merle Dixon was an ass.  That was undeniable.  But when Daryl had needed him, he’d been there.  He was strong and brave and, when it came to his little bro, he was kind to boot.  Nobody would understand because they hadn’t been there.  They hadn’t seen the hard times that had forged the brotherly bond that would never be broken.

 

* * *

**Four years old…**

Daryl hadn’t meant to do it.  The little wooden truck had come apart in his hands as he’d zoomed it over the threadbare carpet: first one wheel, then another, and then the whole cab had detached and he was left holding just the trailer, chubby fingers turning it this way and that as his face dropped in disappointment.  Christmas in the Dixon household was always a meagre affair with not much money to spare, but more than enough somehow to ensure that the liquor cabinet never ran empty.  There’d been no tree, and just one present a piece that his mother had wrapped carefully in old, yellowed newspaper, and now that little piece of joy was ruined.  His Dad was gonna be furious.

Before he could make any effort to hide the broken toy, to squirrel it away under a loose floorboard or feed the stray wheels to the shadow monster that lurked beneath his bed, he heard a sharp curse from behind him.

‘Ya fuckin’ broke it already?’  The accusation was punctuated by a sharp clip round Daryl’s ear and he cowered, not daring to look up at his father’s reddening face.  ‘This is exactly why I tell yer ma not t’ bother.  She bought that damn thing with my hard-earned money ‘n’ now look what ya did!’

A strong hand fisted the neck of Daryl’s shirt, lifting him clear from the ground and setting him on his feet so he had no choice but to stare wide-eyed at the man looming over him.  He whimpered.

‘Ya don’t take care o’ things,’ his father snarled.  ‘That’s yer problem.  No fuckin’ respect! Ya ma says ya’ll learn it as ya grow, but I ain’t buyin’ it.  Guess I’ll just have to teach ya the hard way.’

Daryl ducked his head, shielding his body with his arms as he waited for the blow that never came.  Instead, he heard the door slam shut and his mother’s timid voice as she entered the living room.

‘W-what’s going on in here?  Did Daryl do something?’

‘Broke his damn toy,’ his father bit out, gaze still burning into the top of Daryl’s head.  ‘It’s been three days ‘n’ he already pulled it all apart!’

‘I’m sure it was an accident, dear.’  Daryl knew from experience that his mother wouldn’t intervene should his dad’s fists clench in fury once again, but he had to hope that her words would sink in as he looked between them with a fearful expression.  ‘Besides, now he has nothing to play with which is punishment enough, right?’

For a heartbeat, Daryl thought her pleas might fall on deaf ears and he sat back down with a bump, drawing his knees up his chest in the hope that, if he could curl himself into a tight enough ball, he might disappear all together.  But then his father was spinning on his heel and stalking towards the door, yanking it open with enough force that the hinges creaked in complaint.  ‘You’re making the boy soft,’ he snapped before it slammed shut behind him and the house fell silent.

‘You need to be more careful,’ his mom scolded him gently, before hustling through to the kitchen with the shopping bags still clutched in her hands, and Daryl felt a sick feeling form in his stomach as his bottom lip began to quiver.  He really hadn’t meant to do it and it all seemed horribly unfair, and he just knew that when his dad came home he’d smell bad and his voice would be funny and he’d still be angry.

‘Hey, don’t worry ‘bout it, kid.’  He hadn’t even noticed Merle was there until he dropped into a low crouch beside him, reaching out a hand to ruffle his hair.  If it was possible, Daryl’s lip jutted out even further and hot, fat teardrops began to spill over his cheeks.

‘I din’t mean to.’

‘I know.’  As Daryl buried his head in his hands, he felt the floorboards around him give under his brother’s weight as he crawled past him and, when Daryl’s curiosity finally won out over his misery, he looked up to see Merle sitting cross legged beside him, piecing together the broken truck with a look of intense concentration on his face.  ‘Just a couple o’ screws come loose, tha’s all.’

‘Can ya fix it?’

‘Course I can.’  He winked at him and Daryl felt a wave of relief wash over him.  ‘Gimme half an hour ‘n’ it’ll be good as new.’

 

* * *

**Eight years old…**

It had been a weird kind of day.  Daryl still couldn’t quite wrap his head around the fact that the oddly shaped box they’d put into the ground had had his mom in it.  Or what was left of her at least.  His dad kept telling anyone that would listen that a funeral was a waste of money when the fire that had destroyed their house had pretty much taken care of that job for them anyway, but his aunt had stepped in and made sure that his mom got a half-decent send-off. 

He didn’t know his aunt very well, had felt awkward and shy when she’d knocked on the door of the room that was pretending to be his early that morning and insisted on helping him into a cheap suit that was scratchy and uncomfortable, combing his tufty hair into submission and tugging on the knots.  He’d sat at Merle’s side in the front pew of the church, his bum growing steadily numb as the man at the front talked at the small gathering of family and nosy neighbours.  There had been songs that he didn’t know the words to and then he’d had to kneel for a prayer and the funny cushion that he’d pulled out from underneath his seat to protect his legs against the hardwood floor had let out a cloud of dust that had made him cough and splutter.

Now, they’d been shepherded into the local pub, where his aunt was weeping softly in the corner as she told stories about his mother that Daryl had never heard before, his father was propping up the bar and knocking back glass after glass of shiny brown liquid that made his face red and his eyes glazed, and Merle was playing pool at a table a few yards away and flirting with one of the barmaids.  Nobody had spoken to him in over an hour, and his tie felt like it was choking him but he couldn’t work his fingers into the knot to loosen it, and all of the sausage rolls were gone from the wilting finger buffet, and he couldn’t even go home after and shut himself in his room because his whole house was smoky and covered in a thick layer of black soot, and he suddenly felt very alone.  If his mom had been there he could’ve run to her and she’d have taken off his tie for him and helped him undo the top button of his shirt, and, if he’d told her he was hungry, she’d have found a stray sweetie at the bottom of her bag and told him to suck it slowly to make it last, and he wished more than anything that she wasn’t gone.  But she was, and when a single fat tear escaped and rolled down his cheek, it all seemed completely overwhelming.

Before he knew it, his shoulders were heaving with great shuddering sobs, and he felt like exactly what he was: a lost, scared little boy that wanted his mother.

But instead, all he had was his drunken, rage-filled father who was looming over him now with his glass still clutched in his meaty paw.  ‘Stop.’

Daryl couldn’t.  He’d spent the past week holding it together and trying to be strong, just like his big brother, but now the reality had set in and it felt like his whole world had fallen apart.

‘I said stop,’ his dad snapped again.  ‘Yer showin’ me up, boy, ‘n’ I won’t have it, not here.’

‘Go easy on him, pop.’  Merle had abandoned his game as he saw the old man rounding on his brother, and now he stepped between them, resting a supportive hand on Daryl’s shoulder.   ‘S’been a long day for all of us.’

‘Kid needs t’ man up.  People die.  Shit happens.  It was her own stupid fault anyway, smokin’ in bed, ‘n’ half cut t’ boot.  S’fuckin’… natural selection, s’what it is!’

Merle’s frown deepened into a glower, and he shoved Daryl behind his legs as he stepped up to his father, tall enough now to look him in the eye.  ‘Look who’s talkin’.’  And then he turned his back and shot Daryl, who was still crying, a tight smile.  ‘C’mon, little brother.  Let’s get some air.’

Out of the stuffy air of the bar, Daryl’s tears stuttered to a halt, and he scrubbed his hands over his cheeks, embarrassed by his outburst.  ‘M’sorry.’

‘Don’t be.’  Merle dropped to his knees and used the corner of his untucked shirt to wipe away the last of the damp from his brother’s eyes.  ‘Yer a damn kid.  Ya jus’ lost yer mom.  Ain’t got nothin’ t’ be sorry for.’

‘But Dad-‘

‘Dad’s a grumpy ol’ drunk.’

‘He’s all we got now,’ Daryl pointed out, his heart sinking.  ‘He’s gonna make ya pay for talkin’ to him like that too.’

‘He can try,’ Merle scoffed, but Daryl could see the tension in his jaw that meant he knew he had a beating coming his way.  ‘’Sides, he ain’t all we got, baby brother.  We got each other.’

 

* * *

 

**Thirteen years old…**

Daryl could still hear their chanting in his head.  ‘Dirty Dixon, dirty Dixon!’

He’d tried not to let it bother him, tried to put on a brave face because he wasn’t a kid anymore, and he couldn’t cry every time somebody hurt him or called him a nasty name.  Instead, he’d grown sullen, hiding behind his mop of dark hair and chewing on his bottom lip until the bullies went away.  At home he’d shut himself in his room once he’d scrounged up something for dinner, eating under the covers and pretending that he was anywhere else in the world that wasn’t a redneck town in the middle of Georgia.

It wasn’t like there was anybody to notice that he was getting more and more withdrawn.  Merle had taken off years ago, leaving Daryl alone with a drunken father who had more interest in what he might find at the bottom of a bottle of whiskey than what his youngest son was getting up to.  Daryl was alone, totally and completely, and the odd occasion when Merle deigned to call from the payphone in the mess hall did little to fend off his sense of isolation.

The house was falling into disrepair.  A fine layer of dust coated every surface, and there were planks of wood missing from the porch steps, rotting away and leaving gaps that’d break your ankle if you tried to take them too fast.  And Daryl was still wearing Merle’s hand-me-downs, thinning on the knees until holes appeared, and too long in the leg, the shirts missing buttons and getting grey around the collars.  That was what had earned him the nickname.

Dirty Dixon.

It made him feel sick.

‘Dirty Dixon!’  The cry went up again as he strode towards the school gates the next day, head down as he hurriedly made his escape.  He was walking so fast, eyes fixed on the scuffed toes of his boots, that he collided with a sturdy figure waiting on the sidewalk, and he mumbled an apology as large hands gripped his bony shoulders.

‘That any way to greet yer big brother now?’

Daryl’s jaw dropped as  he looked up at the crooked grin of Merle, smart and strong in his uniform, hair cropped into a standard-issue buzzcut.  ‘Merle?  Whatcha doin’ here?’

‘Came to see how ya were gettin’ on.’  He ran an appraising eye over Daryl’s scrawny form.  ‘Ya got tall, bro.’

‘S’been a long time.’

‘It has.’  A flicker of guilt crossed his face, and then he was pulling Daryl in for a tight hug, slapping him on the back.  ‘Truth is, I din’t wanna see the ol’ man.  I’ve been callin’ though.  Got worried when I couldn’ reach ya.’

‘Phone got cut off,’ Daryl admitted with a shrug.

‘Right.  Well, I’ll get right on that.’  He was turning towards home when the chorus began again, that chant that seemed to burn itself into Daryl’s brain.  ‘They talkin’ t’ you?’

‘’Bout me, more like,’ Daryl muttered, his stare fixed on the ground again.  ‘Can we just get out o’ here?’

‘Sure.’  Merle hesitated and Daryl knew it was taking every ounce of strength he had to hold himself back from letting loose on the assholes that were sniggering as they passed by, so he turned and started walking, relieved when Merle fell into step beside him.

They sat up talking long into the night.  Not about what had happened or about their dad.  Nah, they talked about Merle’s training, about the soldiers he served with and about where he might go next.  It made Daryl proud to see his brother making something of himself, but even so, he couldn’t help but feel abandoned as he watched Merle’s eyes sparkle with excitement.

Their dad didn’t come home, not an unusual occurrence, and when Daryl sloped off to bed, Merle remained sitting in the sagging armchair in the living room, the TV on low.  Somehow Daryl knew he’d be gone before he woke.

He was right.  The next morning, he shuffled out into the living room to find it empty.  On the armchair sat a pile of his most raggedy clothes, the holes in the knees neatly stitched up, the hems turned where they’d dragged on the floor, mismatched buttons sewn into the gaps on his school shirts.  Resting on top was a scrawled note.

_Guess sewing these patches on my uniform taught me something useful after all.  Be seeing you, bro._

 

* * *

 

**Twenty-one years old…**

Daryl was on his back under the belly of a rusted saloon car when he heard the familiar whistle.  Two weeks into his new job, he’d managed to keep work and family separate up till now, and he scrambled out from beneath the chassi and climbed to his feet to see Merle crossing the forecourt of the autoshop with a grin on his face.

‘How’s it goin’, little brother?’

‘S’good,’ Daryl said with a shrug.  ‘Don’t get off for another half hour though.  I can meet ya ‘cross the street-‘

‘I’ll wait.’

Sauntering past him into the garage, Merle hauled himself up onto one of the work benches and sat, swinging his heels.  He’d been out of lock-up for about eighteen months, and had come back home, disgraced and without anything to show for his years away except a bad attitude and a problem with authority figures.  He scraped a living now in the dark alleys behind bars, trading little packets of white powder and pills for a rolled wad of cash, most of which would have to go to his supplier, but Daryl preferred not to think about it.  Drugs had never been his thing and, much as he loved his brother, he wasn’t about to let himself get dragged into that shady underworld.  It had earned Merle a reputation, not that you’d know he cared with the cocky swagger he adopted as he strolled the streets, but Daryl worried for him.

‘Alright then.’  He was about to drop back down on to the oil-covered concrete when a shout came from across the yard. 

‘Dixon!’

Leaving Merle to idly drum a wrench against his knee, inane grin still painted over his features, Daryl jogged towards his boss, Samuel, who was standing in the open doorway of the office across the lot with a grim look on his face.  ‘Somethin’ the matter, boss?’

‘Wha’s that asshole doing in my shop?’

Daryl bristled, but he sucked in a deep breath, forcing his hackles back down.  ‘Just meetin’ me from work, sir.  Told him he’ll have to wait for me to finish.  He won’t cause no trouble or nothin’.’

‘I don’t want him coming round here.  Where that boy goes, trouble follows.’

‘That ain’t fair,’ Daryl argued, but the old man was shaking his head. 

‘Nah.  I was on the fence already ‘bout havin’ one of you workin’ for me, but I’d heard ya were different from your pop and your brother.  Guess I didn’t think about what it’d do to my reputation if he’s seen loitering when my customers come by to pick up their cars.’

‘Ya want me to ask him to leave?’  Daryl knew his exasperation was evident in his voice, but there wasn’t much he could do about it.  ‘I can tell him to go wait at the diner or-‘

‘I think it’d be better if ya both headed out, son.’  Samuel’s eyes were apologetic, as he took off his baseball cap and mopped the sweat from his brow.  ‘I’m sorry.  I can’t risk being found guilty by association, y’know what I mean?  Ain’t personal.’

‘Sure feels it.’  He stalked towards his backpack, propped against the open garage door, hoisting it onto his shoulder as he cast a venomous look back towards the boss who was still watching on.  ‘C’mon, Merle, let’s get outta here.’

His brother hopped down from his seat with a grunt, frowning in confusion.  ‘He lettin’ ya knock off early?’

‘Permanently,’ Daryl growled.  ‘C’mon.  Let’s just go.’

But Merle was already halfway out the door, crossing the open forecourt in three large strides until he was towering over Samuel, his fists clenched at his sides.  ‘Are ya fuckin’ kiddin’ me, man?  Yer really gon’ go fire my baby brother ‘cause ya got a problem with me?’

‘It ain’t like that,’ the old man tried to argue.  ‘It’s-

‘I know exactly what it’s like,’ Merle cut him off.  ‘I ain’t gon’ stand here ‘n’ pretend I’m squeaky clean.  I’ve made my mistakes but Daryl, he ain’t done a single thing wrong in his life, I’ve made sure of it.’

‘Don’t matter none.  S’done now.’

‘Well, this mistake, s’all yours, boss.  ‘Cause that kid, he’s the hardest damn worker ya’ll ever meet ‘n’ he knows his stuff.  He’ll be runnin’ a place just like this one day, ya can count on it.  He’s got the smarts.  ‘N’ I hope he’ll put this dive outta business ‘cause karma’s a real bitch, man.  Y’all have got it comin’!’

With that he stormed off, Daryl trailing behind him, the tips of his ears glowing in embarrassment both at the situation and his brother’s belief in him.  He’d never live up to it, he knew that, but it was damn nice to hear.

 

* * *

 

**Thirty-three years old…**

Daryl wasn’t sure what had happened.  One minute he’d been cruising along the back road, skirting round the edge of town, the rumble of the engine his own personal kinda therapy, and the next the front wheel slid out from beneath him and the bike tipped, dragging him across the asphalt as it careered towards the verge.  The friction shredded his jeans, the skin beneath burning and tearing as he passed over the rough ground, and then he hit his head and everything went black.

Coming to, alone and with the light fading, his first instinct had been to climb to his feet and start picking his way back along the treeline, making for home.  But as he eased himself upright, a sharp jolt of pain shot through his leg and his head began to swim.

‘Shit.’  He dropped like a stone, collapsing back onto the weed-littered grass, and he squeezed his eyes shut for a moment before digging into his pocket for his phone.  He should’ve called 911.  He knew that.  He’d obviously had an accident and he wouldn’t have been surprised if his leg was broken, but he’d spent enough time getting patched up in his youth to know that he didn’t wanna go to the ER alone.  There were always so many questions, so much waiting around, and blinding lights that seemed to expose all of your secrets, and, as pathetic as it made him feel, he needed somebody by his side.  Always had.

Merle answered on the third ring.  ‘Sup, baby brother.  Where you at?  We’ve been waitin’ on your sorry ass for an hour now.’

‘Merle.’  The pain in Daryl’s voice broke through Merle’s buzz, and there was a tense silence on the end of the line as he waited for Daryl to speak again.  ‘Came off my bike jus’ north of the creek.  I’ve messed up my leg, man.  Hit my head pretty hard too.  I-I…’

He didn’t want to say the words, to ask his big brother to come and hold his hand while he got himself seen to, but he didn’t need to.  He heard the music and chatter of the bar fade away as Merle abandoned his drink and headed out, rasping ‘On my way,’ before he hung up.

And yeah, he’d been drinking.  And he must’ve broken the speed limit by a long way to get to his side as quick as he did, but when Daryl spotted the headlights of his truck winding along the road, the pain ebbed away, just a little.  Merle’s boots thudded against the ground as he jumped down and rushed to Daryl’s aid, hands moving over the leg that just wouldn’t play ball as Daryl tried once again to stand.

‘Shit, bro, jus’ stop, would ya?  Let ol’ Merle take a look at ya ‘fore ya fall down ‘n’ do yerself even more damage.’  Daryl obeyed and Merle wrapped strong fingers around his brother’s ankle and squeezed.  ‘That hurt?’

Daryl let out an agonised cry as another spasm of pain shot through him, and he laughed.  

‘Thought it might.  Reckon that’s broke, Darylina.  Gotta get you to a hospital, soon as.’

‘Hate them damn places,’ Daryl grumbled as Merle slipped an arm around his back and hauled him to his feet, pausing for a second to allow him to steady himself before turning back towards his truck.  ‘What about my bike?’

‘I’ll come get it for ya in the mornin’.  Gotta get ya seen to first, c’mon.’

‘But-’

‘Are you arguin’ with me?’

‘Nah.’  Daryl fell silent, grimacing when Merle pulled open the passenger door and helped him inside.  ‘Sorry for ruinin’ yer night, man.  Din’t mean for ya to come rushin’ out here like this.’

‘Yeah, ya did.’  Merle shot him a knowing look.  ‘But that’s what family’s for, right?  Now, you just try ‘n’ keep breathin’ ‘til we get to the hospital ‘cause I gotta tell ya, man, ya look like shit.’

 

* * *

**Forty-two years old…**

They’d seen it on the news.  It had been in the papers too.  The dead were walking.  But somehow it had seemed far away, something that happened in big cities to faceless people in suits and ties, power walking and drinking smoothies and green tea.  Not in their town.  Not people they knew.  But it reached them sooner than anyone could have imagined, and outside in the street, screams filled the air.

‘We gotta go, man.’  Merle was hovering in the doorway, his eyes scanning the front yard as he waited for Daryl to gather his things.  ‘I mean now.  It’s getting hairy as shit out there.’

‘I’m comin’.’  Daryl shrugged his backpack onto his shoulders and grabbed for his crossbow, loading it with a bolt before making for the door.  ‘Ya sure about this?  Leavin’?  News reports said t’ stay inside.’

‘Yeah, well these freaks ain’t knockin’,’ Merle observed as, across the street, a corpse threw itself against the neighbour’s front door, tumbling inside when the wood gave way.  ‘Trust me on this one, baby brother.  We stay here, we die.’

It was like something out of one of the horror movies that Merle insisted on watching when he was high, and Daryl swallowed hard as they made for the truck, trying to ignore the blood that stained the sidewalk.  When the news bulletins had stopped, an eerie silence had settled over the house, and then the cries for help had started.  He’d been alone and debating whether he should make a break for the woods that bordered the town when Merle had burst through the door, eyes wide and frantic.  He’d been camping out in the open country with a couple of friends, hunting and fishing, when the world had gone mad, and honestly, Daryl knew he’d have been safer staying out there.  But of course, he’d come back for him.  That was what family did.

‘Whatever happens, man,’ Merle was saying as the engine thrummed to life.  ‘You ‘n’ me, we’re gon’ make it out of here.  The undead ain’t no match for us now, ya hear me?’

Daryl could only nod.

‘We got each other’s backs, bro.  Tha’s why we’re gonna survive this thing, the whole world goin’ crazy.  Damn unstoppable, tha’s what we are!’

His pupils were pinpricks and his cackle verging on maniacal as they peeled away from the kerb and sped down the street, but Daryl didn’t care.  Merle was right.  They were family, they were blood, and he’d risked his ass coming back to town to get him out.  As long as they were together, they’d be okay.  That was how it was.  That was how it’d always been.

 

* * *

 

**Now…**

The ghosts of the past still swam through Daryl’s head as he hitched his crossbow further up his shoulder and shot Rick a tight smile.  It was enough for the sheriff to understand that there was nothing more he could say, though it still pained the archer to turn and walk away.  But it didn’t matter.  Merle was blood, real family, the person who’d been by his side through thick and thin.  Sure, people wondered why Daryl didn’t cut him loose, welcoming him back each time he got outta jail only to watch him make the same mistakes time and time again, but they hadn’t been there to see how many times Merle had been the one to pick Daryl up when life got hard.

Man, he was the first to admit that his brother was stubborn and cruel and arrogant.  He had a quick temper and he was a judgemental fool most of the time.  But he’d shaped Daryl into a man worthy of being at Rick’s side, a survivor, and damn it if he didn’t deserve a little respect for that.  It was Daryl’s turn to make a sacrifice for Merle this time around and that’s exactly what he intended to do.

As Merle slung an arm around his shoulders, ushering him away, Daryl felt the relief in his posture, betraying his uncertainty as to where the younger Dixon’s loyalties lay these days, and he raised his hand to clap his brother on the back, returning his eager grin.

‘S’good t’ have ya back, bro.’


End file.
